Take Her Away
by Eternity Locket
Summary: The grim reapers have finally captured Undertaker. However, making him speak is going to be even harder than catching him. Undertaker has nothing to fear, for he has nothing to lose. Except, perhaps, that last hidden treasure he still holds dear...
1. Captured

**Disclaimer: I do not own Black Butler/Kuroshitsuji or any of its characters. They belong to Yana Toboso.**

**A/N: This story is based off a headcanon that could be disproven very soon. Oh well, fanfiction is for fun! Many thanks to Shadowclanwarrior for beta-reading this story :)**

* * *

><p>Undertaker slowly opened his eyes. Even through his extremely short-sighted vision, he could tell he was no longer in the human world. He blinked rapidly as shockingly bright light assaulted his eyes and rocked his head forward to protect them with his overgrown fringe. Metal restraints were locked firmly around his wrists and ankles to prevent him moving from the chair he had been bound to. They had been tightened to the point of pain, but Undertaker considered them with nothing more than mild amusement. <em>Hee hee… the little grim reapers felt the need to tie me up sooooo tightly! They are desperate to not let me slip through their fingers again. How sweet.<em>

The increasing volume of footsteps alerted Undertaker of his company. The combination of smooth soles, squeaky shoes and clacking heels made him grin. It was those three again. The three who had so kindly caught him.

"Aah, how nice of you to pay me another visit! Let's seeeeee…" He tilted his head to let his hair fall away from one eye. "You wanted to chat, yeeees?"

They emerged from the darkness and stood close enough for him to see them. William T. Spears, in his formal suit, as dull as a blackboard. Grell Sutcliff, looking at him from over the top of his glasses, a shark-toothed leer on his face. Finally Ronald Knox, the youngest, watching him with incredulity. Undertaker couldn't deny the strangeness of the situation. He had finally been caught after much effort. Undertaker remembered vaguely being Ronald's age – it was a long, long time ago – and being confused over how the reaper elders rarely showed any sign of fear on their faces, even in the direst situations. A giggle escaped him as he reminisced. He needn't have been confused.

Fear stemmed primarily from two sources: uncertainty and potential loss. Tied up in the grim reaper's prison, no punishment was beyond Undertaker's imagination. As for loss… you had nothing to fear when you had nothing to lose.

"If I were in your position, I certainly wouldn't be _laughing."_ William adjusted his glasses with the end of his scythe. "You have been charged with…" He opened a black leather book. Undertaker shook his head. This was going to be a long list. He hummed to himself as William started to read out his many, many breaches of conduct.

"…deserting without asking for leave, consequently deliberately failing to collect souls from those on your 'to-die' list for fifty years, refusing to take a soul mentioned on your 'to-die' list…"

Undertaker flicked his fringe back over his face. His vivid green eyes started to glaze over. This feeling of unbearable boredom consolidated his reasons for leaving this world and never looking back.

"…keeping your death scythe without permission, assaulting three security officers to keep said death scythe…"

How could the younger grim reapers stand all these rules and restrictions? Undertaker stole a look at his other two captors. Young Ronald was looking at his watch. On his other side, Grell watched him hungrily, as if he was trying to undress his captive with his eyes.

"…tampering with human life with unnatural means and evading capture to face up to these crimes." William finally looked up from his book and stared at his hostage, as if expecting a response. Undertaker snickered weakly.

"Hee hee! Are you done?"

The book snapped shut.

"You will face grave consequences for your actions," said William sternly. "I can't recall any other grim reaper who has committed as many offences."

"Not even me!" Grell chimed in. "Compared to you, I'm a good girl!" He waltzed over to the chair Undertaker was tied to. With an almost graceful twist of his finger he flicked his prisoner's long silver fringe to the side. His Cheshire Cat grin widened even further as he peered into Undertaker's now completely exposed eyes. "Mind you, I do like a bad boy. Bad boys make my pulse rush! You look like you could be a lot of fun."

The fact that William was not reprimanding Grell alerted Undertaker of the limitless punishments he could be subjected to. He smiled at Grell, catching the redhead off-guard. _Nothing will work. Will you degrade me? I have no dignity. Cause me pain? I have taken more than you could ever inflict on me again. Even if you kill me, I will only be changing to a different state, which could only be better than my current one. Though I don't think you can afford to kill me, can you, my little grim reapers?_

William pressed the end of his death scythe to Undertaker's throat.

"I assume you know what we want from you. We need you to answer all our questions on how exactly you managed to reanimate corpses." Undertaker smiled.

"You're not going to ask _whyyyyy_?"

"I'm actually quite curious why he'd do it," Ronald admitted. He looked like he rather regretted speaking as William shot him a cold look.

"We do not need to know why. Our role as grim reapers is to efficiently perform our duty of collecting souls on the 'to-die' list. Nothing more. Motivation and emotions have no place in our job." He flicked his death scythe to press the clippers under Undertaker's jaw. "Besides," he added darkly. "You have to learn that there is nothing – _nothing _– which could justify these severe breaches of conduct."

Grell wiggled his eyebrows and raised his leg to place his high-heeled shoe on Undertaker's lap. He seemed to be the only one enjoying himself. Undertaker couldn't help but chortle softly on concluding that this silly, flamboyant grim reaper was far more intimidating than William could ever be, no matter how much the dark-haired man waved his death scythe about.

"So," purred Grell. "Are we going to have to do this the easy way…" Undertaker felt his heel digging into his thigh. "…or the hard way?"

Grell's painful flirting made 'the easy way' seem a lot more tempting, but Undertaker had made up his mind.

"Neither. That is noooot my price for information." His lip twitched in blissful anticipation. Grell lost his smile and kicked him in the leg.

"If you are seriously suggesting we should give you a 'first-rate laugh' to make you tell, I am going to scream! And then I am going to make _you_ scream! Does that sound funny to you?" Undertaker smiled calmly.

"I wouldn't be harsh on yourself. You are the most entertaining reaper by a long way!" Grell looked insulted for a moment before smiling again. He leant close enough to Undertaker to dangle his long red hair in his face.

"Flattery doesn't get anywhere with me, bad boy."

"So boss, how are we going to make him speak?" Ronald asked warily. William drew back his death scythe and sighed.

"What is protocol for dealing with this type of delinquent is to leave him without food or water. The usual timespan is three days."

Ronald gulped. Through Grell's tumbling red mane, Undertaker could see the youngster looking at his bony hands with discomfort. Undertaker just smiled. He knew they weren't going to let him starve to death without gaining their precious information. It was just an unnecessary, uncomfortable and – this thought made him frown – _boring_ waste of time.

"Are you sure that's for the best, sir?" Ronald said with a nervous smile. "He's powerful, sure, but he is an old man…"

"You cannot be soft on rule-breakers, Knox," William replied firmly. "You might not have bared witness to any serious punishments thus far, but now is your chance to learn. Depriving him is, as a matter of fact, one of the softest punishments." He pushed up his glasses again. Undertaker wondered why he didn't get a better-fitting pair, or hook his on a chain like Grell. "Our job is now to guard him as he reflects over what he has done and sees our reasoning. We will not speak to him or give him any distractions. Knox, you will be on guard duty today."

"But sir, I have a date tonight-!" William's death scythe struck him on the head, making him yelp.

"Appreciate the seriousness of the situation," William said with a glare. "This could be the turning point of grim reaper history, when we find out the true dynamics of human life. A pinnacle of understanding. Ronald Knox, _your date does not matter."_

Ronald looked put out, but nodded his head. William looked back at his other colleague, who was breathing nonsensical sweet-nothings down Undertaker's ear. Undertaker had stopped listening a while ago. Watching William Shakespeare's cinematic record had given him enough _Romeo and Juliet _to last him a few more years yet.

"Sutcliff," William said sharply, like a man calling his dog across a park. "We will take over Knox's guarding duties in twenty-four hours from now. He looked at his watch before walking back into the darkness. Grell abandoned Undertaker and skipped after him.

"You want to keep me company? Oh, Will!"

"I simply cannot trust you to not talk to him alone," was the monotonous reply.

Undertaker and Ronald met each other's eyes. Ronald sighed and disappeared into the darkness. He returned with a chair and sat down, resigned.

"Isn't your job so fun and liberating?" Undertaker asked him cheerfully.

The young reaper gave no reply. Undertaker leant back in his chair, feeling a huge bruise on his back as he pressed his spine against the edge of the chair. This was going to be a long three days. He looked around at his surroundings. A bright light gleamed down at him, shining on him like a spotlight. Everywhere else was a black mist. He was unable to see beyond the shadows.

"I can see why you want to work here! A job brimmed with glorious paperwork, charming colleagues and rewarding overtime-!"

"Can't you just go to your happy place or something?" Ronald moaned.

Undertaker looked back at Ronald, who had his head in his hands. The young reaper was clearly going to be a good boy and obey his boss by not talking to his hostage. Undertaker took one more look around the room and concluded that Ronald's advice was perfectly sound. He closed his eyes and took himself back to a better time…

* * *

><p>He was back in his beloved funeral parlour, humming 'Jingle Bells' happily to himself as he tied red ribbons around coffins. The Christmas cheer at this time of year was contagious even for Undertaker. He took a step back, admiring his handiwork. <em>Just like a Christmas present. Won't his family be pleased?<em>

He turned his attention to the door as he heard a series of hesitant knocks. A smile stretched across his face. What fun, another guest! He quickly looked around for last-minute inspiration of a sinister prank to play on his poor visitor. An unfortunate, sizable spider crept too close to his hand. Perfect. A moment later, the spider was trapped in his hand, underneath his long sleeves. Very soon, it would be down his visitor's neck. He gleefully opened the door.

"Hee hee! I bid ye good tidings, my…" His words trailed off as he was met by Lady Claudia Phantomhive, the young wife of his regular customer, Earl Phantomhive. "My lady, what do I owe the pleasure?"

"G-good evening, Mister Undertaker," the lady said politely, closing her umbrella. "I'm sorry to call on you at this hour. Can I come in?"

She seemed nervous. This was the first time she had properly paid him a visit alone. Undertaker smiled.

"If you can walk, I imagine you _can _come in…"

"Oh, yes, of course. _May _I come in?"

"You may! Come join me in the London funhouse, Lady Phantomhive!" He giggled at her bewilderment as she followed him into the parlour. His giggling turned into hysterical cackling as he felt the spider trying to wriggle free from his enclosed hand. He set it down on the table. The mental image of her reaction was good enough for now.

Undertaker gestured for her to take a seat. She looked around and carefully seated herself on one of his festively wrapped coffins. He sat opposite her, grinning, his concealed eyes fixed on her.

"It's a surprise to see you without his lordship. What might have occurred, hmm?" Lady Phantomhive cleared her throat.

"I just wanted to report back to say that my husband caught the murderer of Lord Willis. I… came to thank you, Mister Undertaker. He could have not done it without your assistance."

From under his fringe, Undertaker raised his eyebrows. Someone was _thanking _him?

"It's all part of my job, my lady."

"Yes, but…" She paused before continuing. "I respect you working to help us. No one ever has to help anyone, but it's nice when they do."

Well, this was new. Someone with no expectations. Undertaker propped his chin on his hand, considering her. Lady Phantomhive had travelled out to his shop, alone, in the rain, to pay him a thank you he didn't even expect. The corner of his mouth quirked up.

"Well, for the right price, I am always willing to help." He bounced his ankle as he watched her. She finally returned a small smile, seeming more relaxed. His smile grew – he wanted her to be at ease. This realisation made him chuckle. Usually he got far more entertainment out of making his customers _not _at ease.

After a pause, the lady reached for her bag. _Look, a noble who lifts a finger. _She drew out a small biscuit tin.

"I tried my hand at baking the other day," she began. "Now, I swear I don't know how this happened, but…"

She held out the tin. Undertaker took it from her and opened the lid. What he saw made him made him nearly drop the tin in laughter. He quickly placed it next to him and let himself shake with uncontrollable giggling.

"They're BONE-SHAPED!" he screeched. He rolled backwards off his coffin, crying slightly with laughter. The concerned look Lady Phantomhive gave him set him off again. He struggled for breath. "That is too perfect! You, Lady Phantomhive, the demure bringer of death!"

"I didn't mean for them to turn out like that!" Lady Phantomhive shook her head, looking embarrassed.

"No, you might have meant something else," Undertaker grinned wickedly as he pulled himself back onto his coffin. "Your poor husband must be a hungry guard-dog. What better way to reward him than to give a dog a bone?"

He sniggered while she appeared to process this suggestion. Slowly, an amused smile crept onto her lips. Undertaker opened his hands to take back the bone-shaped biscuits.

"Are they for me?"

"Yes, if you would like them." She watched him with contented eyes as he crunched into one, his cheeks puffed out with pleasure. "No one else wanted to touch them. They thought they would die if they so much as took a bite. I promise I didn't poison them. I thought perhaps you wouldn't mind. Consider them a thank you gift."

"You must teach me how to make these," he replied, happily cramming another into his mouth. "They beat the ordinary rectangles any day of the week." Lady Phantomhive looked up at him hopefully.

"I would be welcome to come here? Are we therefore friends?"

Undertaker gulped down his mouthful. _Friends with a human, hmm? That could be… entertaining._

"Perhaps? Given what I am, it would make a lot of sense to be friends with the bringer of death, wouldn't it now?"

Lady Phantomhive smiled.

"Then perhaps, as a friend, you would like to come to our next ball? To be perfectly frank, our social events could use some… humour."

Undertaker thought of a crowded ballroom, filled with humans involved in crooked dealings. _No. That is dangerous territory. I might meet something more noxious than a human crook._

"I don't go to balls, my lady."

"…Oh." Her genuine disappointment surprised him. He bent his head to hide this fact. He had been serving as a grim reaper for so long, he shouldn't feel surprised anymore. To distract himself, he took another biscuit and twisted it in his hand.

"Your husband has come here alone countless times for information and he _still _struggles to admit to people that we are even acquaintances. Then here you come and declare our friendship instantly." He gave her a crooked smile. "Are you not afraid of being laughed at?"

"I don't care if I am laughed at," was her simple reply. Undertaker raised his eyebrows.

"I don't believe you. You're a lady from the noble realm – your very life depends on you _not _being laughed at."

Lady Phantomhive seemed to consider this for a moment.

"I think it's high time everyone lowered their expectations," she said softly. "A lady has to do this, a gentleman has to do that, an undertaker has to be this… does it really matter?" Undertaker had to pause himself before answering.

"Society as a whole thinks so, my lady."

Lady Phantomhive unexpectedly smiled.

"Well, it matters less to me. Perhaps having something to laugh at would do everyone some good. After all, think about the world…" She earnestly met his eyes through their curtain of hair. Despite the veil, she was looking right into them. "How sad it would be, should laughter disappear."

Undertaker opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. He could not dispute that last. His companion stood up.

"I must be making tracks. I didn't even tell my husband I was going out." Undertaker came to his senses again and gave a small giggle.

"Of course. I expect he would throw quite the tantrum if he knew you were gone. What is that phrase your kind like to use? 'Absence makes the heart grow fonder?'"

"That's an optimistic way of describing it. It was nice to see you, Mister Undertaker."

"Yes… how… _entertaining_ it was to see you, Lady Phantomhive."

She paused as she collected her bag.

"In future, when we are alone together as we are now, you might like to call me 'Claudia'. That is the name that really belongs to me." She looked at him expectantly. Undertaker realised she was implicitly asking for his name – his real name – in return.

"What do you think of my coffins?" he asked her, throwing off the question. "Aren't they pretty? Don't you think their families would be happy on receiving them all nicely wrapped for their funeral?"

Claudia looked at the brightly wrapped coffins. Her lip twitched up in a way which Undertaker recognised as a supressed smile. Or perhaps supressed horror.

"Yes. I'm sure they would be… delighted. You might have discovered what they secretly wanted for Christmas." She fiddled with her umbrella. "Well, until next time, Mister Undertaker."

"Until we meet again!" He felt his mouth spreading into a smile, a softer one than his usual twisted grins. "You are welcome any time… _Claudia._"


	2. Keeping Up Appearances

**Disclaimer: I do not own Black Butler/Kuroshitsuji or any of its characters. They belong to Yana Toboso.**

* * *

><p>The sound of a key turning jolted Undertaker out of his stupor. It took a moment for him to remember he was back in the grim reaper prison. He looked up to see the red and black blurred figures of Grell and William approaching from the darkness. Twenty-four hours down. Forty-eight to go.<p>

Ronald sat dozing in his chair. He nearly sprang out of his seat when Grell slammed a hand down on his shoulder.

"Hello, Ronald!" he sang in an upbeat voice. Undertaker wondered whether Grell was trying to sound sweet, but the dissonant happiness came across as sounding rather sinister. "Was our bad boy any trouble for you?"

He looked over and met Undertaker's eyes. He flicked up his eyebrows suggestively and smiled like a dragon bearing its teeth. Ronald stretched his limbs lazily.

"Nah, he wasn't too bad. He was mostly asleep or daydreaming while I was guarding."

Grell put his hands on his hips, looking rather disappointed.

"How dull." Undertaker felt Grell's gaze hone in on him. The red-haired reaper eyed him up from his bound ankles, to his legs, then holding his gaze for a considerable amount of time on his torso, up until he met his face again. Grell grinned and sashayed up to him. "I'd much rather spend my time with someone who is more… _active_ at night."

"Sutcliff, must I remind you to not interact with our prisoner?" William clicked his hedge-clipper scythe warningly. Undertaker noticed a trace of triumph in Grell's smile as he turned and flocked back towards William.

"Oh no, darling Will! Why would I, when I could interact with _you?_ What a delectable plan of yours to have us on duty together, Will! You and I, nearly alone with each other for twenty-four hours, with nothing to break us apart! Doesn't the thought send thrills up your body?"

"No."

"That's exactly as it should be," Grell preened. "It wouldn't nearly be as thrilling if you admitted to it. A predictable romance is just _lacklustre_-"

"Okay, okay, that's just great!" Ronald jumped up from his chair and held up his hands, as if trying to warn a charging bull to slow down to no effect. "So since I'm done here, can I leave you two to your 'thrilling time' with each other?"

"That is no way to speak to your seniors, Knox," William replied icily.

Ronald bit his lip and smiled uneasily.

"Sorry boss. It's just – after a whole day of doing almost nothing you kind of forget your manners, you know?"

"Grim reapers have to maintain their professionalism at all times, regardless of the circumstances," William said. He had one of the most mechanical voices Undertaker had heard for half a century.

"Should I come back in twenty-four hours, sir?"

"No. The two of us will guard him for the next two days." Ronald's shoulders sank in relief before William added, "During those two days you shall complete the mandatory paperwork on our case. Fill in the prisoner assessment form, the mission evaluation review, update the report on our transgressor and look through the Discipline Act 1587, which you have clearly neglected to read. Report back here in forty-eight hours sharp."

Undertaker smirked. Such was William's sheer sense of professionalism that he used ridiculous phrases like 'forty-eight hours sharp.'

"I have placed all the paperwork on your desk," William stated.

Ronald blinked.

"…Thank you for your consideration, sir," he sighed.

He trailed off into the dark, walking as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. The sound of a heavy iron door shutting rang through the cell.

Undertaker licked his lips, aware of how dry they were. He calmly willed himself to be patient – he would be given food and water eventually. Still, his mind wandered back to the last time he could remember drinking. The raindrops that he had caught on his tongue as he had tried to fight off William, Grell and Ronald simultaneously surely didn't count. He guessed that was about a day before he woke up in prison.

Oh, the Great Capture Mission… it would go down as an unforgettable day in grim reaper history, but Undertaker struggled to recall the exact sequence of events leading to his capture. _That night_,_ I had been watching my young Earl Phantomhive patrolling the streets with the help of his noxious pet demon Sebastian Michaelis, wondering when it would be best to reappear to them. Then what?_ He suppressed a wince as a sharp pain pierced the back of his head.

_Before I could decide, the little grim reapers ambushed me. I couldn't risk the demon overhearing and drawing himself and the boy into a three-way fight with five supernatural beings, could IIII? So I was forced to teleport to a remote field. The reaper trio followed me there._

Undertaker thought of how Grell and Ronald had improved since their last fight. Their main mistakes back on the Campania had been their predictable attacks, being distracted by Sebastian and attacking him one at a time. This time, they were focused, cunning and above all, the three _worked together._ That was the key. In fact, it was common sense. Even the most skilled, experienced fighters couldn't block hits coming from three different places.

He wasn't sure if it was a chainsaw, a hedge clipper or a lawnmower that had delivered the knockout blow, but however it happened, Undertaker couldn't help but give a bitter laugh. The little grim reapers deserved to have their moment of glory...

While it lasted.

There was a moment of silence as Undertaker acknowledged that he was now in the company of William and Grell for the next forty-eight hours. That was two thousand, eight hundred and eighty minutes with a monotonous man who sucked the humour out of everything just by opening his mouth… and a violent eccentric who had surely not forgotten that his hostage had harmed his prize possession, his face, in their last encounter.

William sat down on Ronald's vacated chair. Grell gave a smug smile and sauntered towards his boss, his hips swishing.

"So," he slurred. "What _shall _we do?"

William looked up at him under sloped eyelids. He already appeared tired of Grell.

_Don't worry, William! Only two thousand, eight hundred and seventy-nine minutes to goooo!_

"We will do as I explained, Sutcliff. We will guard the prisoner and not speak to him until he is prepared to give us the information we require of him."

For a short moment, Grell looked disappointed. Then he simpered and batted his suspiciously long eyelashes.

"Oh Will, that focused passion of yours sets my heart ablaze! However…" He placed his hands on the back of William's chair and snaked them down the sides as he spoke. "How about we do something… exciting?"

"What in death's name are you suggesting?"

Undertaker grinned. Asking Grell to clarify, a fatal mistake. This was one of the very rare occasions where curiosity really did kill the cat! Grell wriggled his shoulders in dramatic eagerness.

"Don't you see it? We're here, in this dark cell, together for _hours_. Just. With. Each. Other!"

"And a criminal."

"Fine – just with each other and the Undertaker. But my dear Will, it is the nearest we are going to be alone for goodness knows how long! Perhaps we should…" His voice dropped to a purr which Undertaker imagined was supposed to sound sensual. "Seize the opportunity?" Suddenly the deathly clippers were an inch from Grell's face. Grell jerked back. "Not the face!"

"Sutcliff, understand this. _This mission _is the 'opportunity' of a lifetime. At the present moment, there is nothing more important than collecting this information and punishing the worst rule-breaker of our time. Appreciate the seriousness of the situation. Now sit down and _behave._"

Grell pouted and stepped back. However, Undertaker sensed that Grell's displays were far from over. The gleaming green eyes that met his from over thick red lenses confirmed this deduction. The red-haired reaper once again slunk over to the chair to which Undertaker was bound. Grell's pink tongue slid over his sharp teeth as he gazed down at his captive audience.

"What do you say, troublemaker? Should I sit down and behave… or should I…" His face was now inches from Undertaker's. "Should I cause a stir?"

If there was a way to make every word in the English dictionary sound lecherous, Grell had found it. Undertaker looked over Grell's shoulder at William, wondering why he hadn't reacted to his employee's antics. The dark-haired man was sitting still in his seat, his face unchanged. Undertaker then realised that William was deliberately not reacting, because a reaction would be exactly what Grell wanted. Undertaker smirked. The little red reaper was trying to make his boss _jealous_ in his delusional way.

Unfortunately, if William wouldn't give Grell a reaction, Grell would only 'bring out the big guns', as the reapers from America would say. Even more unfortunately, his weapon-of-choice happened to be Undertaker. Black gloved hands reached out and wrapped around locks of Undertaker's hair.

"Why is it that the men I know are so stoic?" Grell mused. "I rather like a strong, silent aura, it's so seductively mysterious." His voice took on a dangerous tone. "However, I also like these men to express some… _emotion_!" He gave Undertaker's hair a viciously playful tug. The older reaper had to supress a hiss of pain as his head lurched sharply with the pull. Looking into Grell's pleased face, Undertaker made his most worrying observation so far: here he was, at the mercy of a man who seemed unable to separate pain from pleasure, and in their last encounter, he had made this man angry. No matter how attractive Grell found him, he would not spare him for 'cutting a lady's face.'

A memory loomed darkly from the abandoned sector of his mind. A memory of a glistening blade digging into skin, and a gashed face that would never completely heal…

Undertaker shut his eyes and searched for another moment in time, anything, to replace the one threatening to make its reappearance. He found one and clung to it – a memory of another surprisingly cunning mind, which craved love and excitement to the point of grasping at a different straw to the one given to her.

* * *

><p>He was now walking up to the entrance of the Phantomhive Manor, fiddling with the cuffs of his blazer. The invitation to the ball had suggested black tie, but Undertaker's outfits did not consist of appropriate ballroom attire, so his suit would have to do. He tugged slightly at his tie. Looking at his clothes, he resembled a teacher more than a party guest.<p>

Maybe being a teacher one day would be fun!

The footman standing at the door looked him up and down, his eyes narrowing at his long, unkempt hair, but let him in without another word as Undertaker showed him his signed invitation. Undertaker peered through his fringe at the scene before him; if he looked through the strands of hair his line of vision sharpened considerably. He had always thought balls were supposed to be bright, lively events, yet everyone here looked like they didn't want to be there, except perhaps the guests who looked like they were on their fourth glass of wine. Despite the orchestra's valiant attempt at playing a waltz, the red-faced dancers were linking arms and dancing a wild jig.

They probably thought they were being hilarious. Undertaker watched them with little amusement. If people had to be drunk to be entertaining, the world's level of humour had reached an all-time low. No wonder his human friend was despairing.

"Oh, what a pleasant surprise! I am so glad to see you here!"

Undertaker's spirits lifted as soon as he heard her voice. Lady Claudia advanced across the hall to meet him, her husband following all-too-closely. She gave a curtsey, and when she raised her head Undertaker could see her bright smile. The earl, however, looked less than pleased to see him.

"Undertaker," Lord Phantomhive coughed. "How… unusual for you to make an appearance here."

Judging by the earl's expression, Undertaker reckoned his appearance had sabotaged the respectability of the earl's event. This thought made him snicker. Now he was truly happy he had come.

"Well, we are delighted to see you, Mister Undertaker!" Claudia enthused. Her husband shot her a warning glance. Undertaker gave her a crafty grin.

"Hee hee! The delight is mine, _Lady Phantomhive."_ He said her title with precision. A small smile played on her lips. Their friendship was their little secret.

The miniature orchestra started playing another waltz. Lord Phantomhive grunted and held out the crook of his arm to his wife, more as a demand than an offer. Claudia slowly took it. Undertaker saw her smile weaken.

"Please do join us," she said as she was led to the far side of the hall. Lord Phantomhive blew out through his lips in annoyance. Undertaker snickered as he followed them. This was going to be a fun evening.

The earl drew his wife over to a settee, which was only large enough for the pair of them. Undertaker took the armchair opposite. A footman approached them and nervously offered the three a silver platter. The Phantomhives declined. Undertaker however grabbed a handful of miniature sandwiches and cocktail sausages and chewed them happily. Claudia gave him a discreet smile as her husband leant back as far away from him as possible.

"So, what were you saying about the Bramley case?" Claudia asked her husband. He clicked his teeth irritably in response.

"You know full well that I cannot disclose any details in front of…" He nodded his head towards Undertaker. Undertaker shook his head, smiling. Really, Earl Phantomhive had far less in the way of discretionary powers than Claudia. It was lucky that the Queen's Watchdog was an inherited role, or else the earl would be out of a job.

"Come come, Lord Earl! We all dwell in the underworld here." Undertaker leant forward in his seat, enjoying the fact that this was only making the earl lean dangerously far back_. It would be wonderful if he toppled out of his seat._ "You know my curiosity knows no bounds!"

"You have a price for information, and so do we," the lord replied curtly.

Undertaker giggled.

"Do you use the same currency as me?"

"Laughter never solves any long-term problems," was the cold reply.

"Ohhh, I don't know about that."

Claudia glanced between them nervously as silence fell between the men. She cleared her throat and gave one of the most appalling attempts at a smile that Undertaker had ever seen. He decided to make another attempt at conversation.

For her sake.

"I do like your dress, Lady Phantomhive."

"You do? Thank you!"

The earl narrowed his eyes at Undertaker.

"Why do _you _like it? It's _pink_."

"Pink happens to be one of my favourite colours!" Undertaker replied cheerfully. The earl blinked at him in disbelief. "Though of course it looks far prettier on her ladyship than it would on me, but I can dare to dream, can't I, Lord Earl?"

"Oh, I don't know about that," Claudia said, smiling archly. "I think it would look delightful on you, Mister Undertaker. Do let me know if you would like to borrow it, if you are stuck for an idea on how to entertain your guests."

"He doesn't entertain his guests," her husband interjected. "He forces them to entertain him."

Claudia laughed as if he had told a witty joke. She laid a hand on his knee.

"You are very welcome to borrow my dress too dear, if it would please you."

"It most certainly would not," the earl replied humourlessly. He pushed her hand away. "In fact, I think I have had my share of nonsense for the night. I will be in my room."

With that, the earl rose from his seat and left, clearly in a bad temper. Claudia watched him leave anxiously. Undertaker noticed a blush of shame creeping across her cheeks. A few of the guests had turned their heads to see the excitement and started whispering under their breath. Undertaker usually relished breaking social norms – everyone's expressions when he did, so entertaining – but he was renowned for being a disturbing, eccentric trickster who was necessary to turn to when the Queen had problems. He could afford to break social norms, but the wife of a semi-respected noble could not. He searched for a way to smooth over the situation.

"What a lovely hairstyle you have, too," he said. Claudia shyly raised her fan to obscure her face.

"Should I follow him?" she whispered. Undertaker shook his head.

"Let him cool off first. Humans can be easily angered over trivial things, then lose their anger quickly."

"Humans?" Claudia raised her eyebrows, confused.

Undertaker just smiled. _Wouldn't you like to know? _He pointed at her hair.

"A plait, I believe you call it! Perhaps I would look prettier with one too!"

Claudia lowered her fan, a smile emerging on her face.

"You certainly would." She beckoned for him to join her on the settee. The onlookers had gone back to drinking, dancing and gossiping about others.

Claudia slowly began to relax as she wove three thin tresses of his hair into a long plait. Her fingers moved carefully, as if she were plaiting a horse's mane. The twisting movement tickled Undertaker's scalp. The corner of his mouth trembled – he was rather ticklish. Back at the grim reaper academy, he had had to train hard to prevent others from using this to their advantage.

_Heh._

He knew he was letting his guard down to an almost vulnerable level. She was a human, a fragile creature with an inevitable fate written down in a black book. If she were to find out what he was, she would surely fear him.

What was he doing? More importantly, why was he doing this?

_I just find you entertaining, Claudia Phantomhive. It would amuse me if I could improve your life._


	3. Demure Bringer of Death

**Disclaimer: I do not own Black Butler/Kuroshitsuji or any of its characters. They belong to Yana Toboso.**

**A/N: Hello readers! Sorry this took so long - there shouldn't be such a long break between chapters in future. Thank you so much for all your support! It means a lot to hear that you're enjoying this :) I hope you like this chapter.**

* * *

><p><strong>PRISONER ASSESSMENT FORM <strong>

_Assessment by Ronald Knox_

**Name:** Undertaker, apparently

**Age: **God knows

**Height:** We didn't measure him – about 6'2?

**Weight:** Currently plummeting

**Rank: **Deserter

**Crime(s): **Oh man… ask Mr Spears

**Supervisors: **Mr W. T. Spears, Mr G. Sutcliff (of DEATH), Mr R. Knox (to DIE!)

**Risk of Operation: **High – for him, that is

**Likelihood of Confession: **X

* * *

><p><em>Four thousand, three hundred and twenty minutes.<em>

William checked his watch as Ronald came running through the door, clutching an armful of papers. The former narrowed his eyes – Undertaker presumed – at the latter's appearance. Ronald handed the papers to his boss and gave a hopeful smile, as if to try to distract William from his untidy hair, tired eyes, and the smear of lipstick on his right cheek.

"Punctuality is key, Knox," William stated impassively as he straightened the pile. He narrowed his eyes at the sheet on the top of the pile. "You will have to rewrite the Prisoner Assessment Form. You _cannot_ use paperwork as an outlet for your poor sense of humour."

"Sorry, sir!" Ronald raised his hands in surrender. "I just had no idea how to fill it in. We know nothing about the prisoner." He cocked his head, apparently just noticing how quiet the other two members of their company were being. "Err… how's the prisoner doin'?" he asked.

They both turned their attention to Undertaker. Ronald raised his eyebrows.

"Do I want to know?" he said weakly.

Undertaker was watching them dully from under his fringe, though his face was almost completely hidden by the way he slumped forward in his chair. Hunger and thirst had finally taken its toll on him, and although he wasn't a proud person, he did not want to give them the satisfaction of seeing him weakened. Despite his efforts, he knew that some effects could not be hidden. His body was involuntarily quivering all over, and he could not supress the dry gasping sounds that escaped his throat as he breathed.

What was more likely attracting his two captors' attention though, was the hairstyle that Grell had given him. Twin ponytails, which were bouncing slightly by their owner's shaking. Grell hummed happily to himself as he curled his fingers through his captive's hair.

"What do you think?" he purred.

Undertaker slowly raised his head to look up, giving him a trembling smile.

"Hee hee… lovely, my dear little reaper," he croaked. He swished one of his bunches over his shoulder, satisfied with his company's looks of astonishment. "Now I look juuuust like our young Lord Earl's little lady. And what wonderful style she has toooooo, hee hee!"

"Ah, I see he hasn't exactly broken," Ronald acknowledged.

_Hungry, so hungry._ This thought slipped into Undertaker's mind, as involuntarily as the shaking. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind, where it fought for dominance among his other neglected ideas. _(Food would be splendiiiiid, riiiiiight?)_

"No," William replied darkly. "Which is why we shall move on to the next stage of protocol."

"Um…"

Ronald looked over at Undertaker once again. His eyes fell on the elder reaper's bound wrists. Undertaker cocked his head. Could Ronald see his now very prominent wrist bones, or the way that the wrist restraints were now noticeably looser? Did it distress the young reaper to see how his kind treat their criminals?

_(Analysis is not quiiiiite as entertaining when you're peckish)_

Undertaker suddenly felt his chin being pinched as Grell turned his head back towards him. A lock of silver hair that was shielding his left eye fell to one side. Grell pursed his lips.

"You don't look so good. Starvation doesn't suit you at all. No, only healthy men, or men dyed in sweet crimson, turn my eye." Suddenly, his captive's stomach gave a pained growl. Grell shook his head, smiling. "Oh darling, I think I preferred you stoic. This weakling side to you is most distasteful-"

"Sir?" Ronald interjected. "Are we gonna give him anything to eat?"

_(Biscuits would be nice)_

William's forehead creased.

_(Though anything will do)_

"I'm afraid we have to. We have to have him in a state where he is able to function for our questioning. Assuming he will not cooperate…?" His gaze met Undertaker's uncovered eye. His weary, hollow… _ever-defiant_ eye. William glared.

"No, we shall commence with Stage Two as planned. Come, we are going upstairs, to the Law Enforcement Department Base Twelve." He walked off into the darkness and came back wheeling what appeared to be an iron trolley. "We are taking the prisoner with us."

Undertaker looked down at the trolley and gave a faint snicker.

"Hee hee, are you going to eat me next?"

(_Careful now, I'm so hungry I might instead eat yooooou!)_

William was clearly not in the mood for silliness. The dark-haired reaper grabbed Undertaker by the shoulders. His grip was so firm that his thumbs dug uncomfortably into Undertaker's collarbone.

"Move him from the chair to the transporter mechanism. Quickly, you two."

"Are you always so formal?" Undertaker mused.

William whipped his death scythe up to Undertaker's face, perilously close to his long scar. The elder reaper flinched away, but managed a composed smile. William leant nearer to him as Grell and Ronald loosened the metal restraints binding him to the chair.

"Listen, perpetrator," he said, in a tone slightly more entertaining to Undertaker than his usual monotone. "The methods to prompt your confession will only increase in severity the longer you hold out. There is nothing for you to gain by staying silent: we will question you for as long as it takes. Why subject yourself to more pain, for information which we will obtain from you eventually anyway?"

_You don't get it. You won't get it (and now you have to feed me)._

Grell began to walk his fingers up Undertaker's arm, which signalled to them that he and Ronald had released him from the chair. William swatted his hand away.

"Right," he said firmly. "Let us move him. He will not escape, Knox," he added to his youngest colleague. "There are nine guards stationed outside this room _alone._ We have sharper security this time, and he is in no state to run."

"But sir," Ronald began, as they hauled their prisoner onto the trolley. "What if he tries to teleport?"

"No one can teleport out of the grim reaper prison, silly!" Grell replied happily. "Otherwise, how would we be able to keep our troublemakers restrained?"

"When we teleport, we create a portal to our destination and go through this portal," said William. "Normally we can make the portal open and close for us, ideally quickly enough so that we can teleport without our pursuers being able to follow us. However, in certain areas, including our prison, we have channelled the atmosphere to prevent such escapes, as you found out the hard way, Sutcliff."

Grell giggled girlishly. Undertaker urged himself to remain still as his captor loomed unnecessarily close to him. The red-head sat astride his captive whilst he harnessed him to the trolley. Ronald gave a half-smile.

"Right, that makes sense. I was wondering why he hadn't tried to escape you already."

"HEY! There's no need to make me sound so _repulsive_, Ronald! Some people might like being in a refined lady's company…"

Something inside of William seemed to snap.

Suddenly, Undertaker felt the trolley rocket forwards. It mowed down Ronald and caused Grell to fall forwards and cling onto his captive for dear life.

"Why must it be that not even one of the three of you can understand how _serious_ this situation is?" William growled. He wheeled the trolley into the darkness at a fast and furious march. He reminded Undertaker of an especially angry tea lady that he had seen once. Her soul was assigned to him.

After her death, he decided that losing such an amusing person did indeed amount to a loss for the human world, and vowed that he would prevent any more deaths of the world's few funny dwellers.

Undertaker's eyes began to adjust to the darkness as William marched on. The cell was not as large as he had imagined: the darkness and echoing merely gave him the impression that it was spacious. Even the 'darkness' was an effect created by the walls being painted black. There were no windows and only one exit. Undertaker presumed the intention was to create a suppressing atmosphere.

He smirked. That would be a splendid design for a cell… if it wasn't for the fact that the entire species was short-sighted and deserters didn't tend to keep their glasses.

William propelled them through the exit with such force that Grell was knocked off the trolley. The dark-haired man ignored the indignant yells of both of his colleagues and walked on, keeping his eyes focused ahead. Undertaker listened to Grell and Ronald's frantic scampering behind them and wondered what incentive they had to keep working as grim reapers. Their boss lacked any sense of humour, they rarely had any spare time, and clearly, their interests lay elsewhere. So why stay?

_Well, they miiiiight get a slap on the wrist for deserting, as they are demonstrating with me, but the freedom -! Isn't it worth it?_

He looked around and nearly felt nostalgic on seeing where he used to work. Nearly. What stopped him feeling 'nostalgic' was that he felt not a shred of fondness for the place. The only good thing he could note was that the grim reaper headquarters now looked far more modern, with polished floors, well-lit passages and fresher ventilation.

When they turned through the entrance to what Undertaker presumed was 'Base Twelve', it felt like they had stepped back in time. Like his cell, the walls were painted black, with an overhanging lamp to send a glaring spotlight into the centre. A large unidentifiable object stood opposite the light beam, covered by a cloth. The weapons and equipment laid across the adjacent wall made him snigger.

"Now this takes me baaaaack! Times haven't changed for prisoners over the last eight hundred years, have they?"

"You should find nothing funny about the objects in this room," William replied tiredly.

Undertaker giggled.

"It is a most impressive historical collection!" He pointed one of his black-nailed fingers to his particular source of entertainment. "Look, you even have a stock! Are you going to throw tomatoes at me until I tell you all my secrets?"

_(Then maybe I could catch them in my mooooouth!) I'm still not telling. (I'm starved) Even so._

William crouched down next to him to turn a screw on the trolley. It spun so that his captive was tilted upright. He then wheeled the trolley to place Undertaker directly under the glazing light. Now that he was upright, Undertaker could see a table to his right, on which stood a bowl of sliced bread and a jug of water. William's eyes fell on him as his convulsing became stronger.

"We have a better method in mind, I can assure you," the younger reaper said with a stony expression. He began to walk towards the unrecognisable object. He passed Ronald and Grell on the way. "Give him food and water. Quickly now, we can't have him perspiring."

Ronald sprang into action right away, dashing to the table and grabbing the jug of water. He hurried over to Undertaker and held it up to their prisoner's mouth. He had to hold the elder's head still to stop his shaking.

"Easy now, not all at once… there we go."

Something about the water tasted not quite right, but Undertaker swallowed it like a drain. By this point, he was willing to drink _anything._

"Mister Sutcliff, sir, can you get the sustenance?"

Grell waltzed over with the bowl of sliced bread with agonising slowness. He propped up the bowl with his knee while he tore the slices into bite-sized pieces. He fluttered his eyelashes as he delicately pinched a piece between his thumb and forefinger.

"Open up, bad boy," he purred.

_Not in such a degrading – (YES! Give it to me! I need it more than laughter right now!)_

He let Grell tease pieces of bread into his mouth. The more he was rejuvenated, the more he sieved through his mind. More than laughter? No, nothing could be more important than laughter.

How dare the little grim reapers make him think otherwise, even for a fleeting second.

William unveiled the cloth-covered object. Undertaker blinked. In his many years of reaping, he had never seen _this _machine. It had the appearance of a gigantic drill.

"My, my, what have we heeeere?"

"This… is a fairly new model," stated William. "Prisoners who have been questioned using this machine call it… the Strike Simulator."

"What does it do, boss?" Ronald asked. The young grim reaper had turned a little green, to Undertaker's amusement.

_Yeeees, that's right, my little green reaper! This is your justice system! Isn't your heart swelling with pride?_

"It harnesses the power of the sky to full effect. Our prisoner is currently in the machine's path. By pressing this button, he will be shot by what previous targets have described as looking – and feeling – like a bolt of lightning. It can be… most harmful."

Ronald gulped and took a nervous step away from the 'Strike Simulator'. Undertaker processed what William had described. He slowly smiled.

"It wouldn't kill me though, would it?"

"It wouldn't. But don't underestimate -"

"Then does it have any point? I'm rather familiar with paaaaiin, after all! I doubt this 'Strike Simulator' could compare to what I've felt over the years. So why would _this _make me tell you all you want to hear?"

William turned a handle on the Strike Simulator. The machine started growling like a tiger.

"Maybe this won't," William said stiffly. "But this is protocol for criminals of your tier. After our interrogation, you might not feel so cocky. The few subjects that were tested on were left begging for the procedure to come to an end."

Undertaker's simple smile didn't leave his face.

"Let us start with a basic question that you still have yet to answer. Who are you really?"

The elder reaper sniggered. William's finger hovered threateningly over the button.

"Care to answer?"

"No… no," Undertaker giggled. "It's just… that particular question! Hee hee!"

William pressed the button.

* * *

><p>He had been struck out of the sky.<p>

He hadn't been quick enough to deflect the demon's swipe. On receiving the blow to the head, the reaper fell fifty feet and landed flat on his back. His death scythe landed with a clang beside him. He rose from unconsciousness a few seconds later, but as he looked up at the rooftops, he realised that those few seconds were crucial. Neither the demon nor his contractor were anywhere to be seen.

Thankfully, this meant that they had given up tonight.

"What was that?"

Undertaker's muscles tensed. Here he was, injured, outside of the Phantomhives's townhouse, with himself and his death scythe in plain sight and a demon on the loose. He filtered through his options. He could grab his scythe and teleport back to his parlour, or he could get up and keep searching for that dear little demon. He tried to sit up. The sharp pain at the back of his head flared up as if to scold both of his ideas.

The door creaked open. In that split-second, Undertaker seized his weapon and hid it under his coat as it disguised itself as a harmless object. His head objected to the sudden movement. His vision darkened as he struggled to hold onto consciousness.

"Oh my -! Mister Undertaker, is that you?"

His vision brightened considerably as his human friend rushed out to see him. He offered her a pained grin.

"Hee hee! Hello, my demure bringer of death!"

Claudia slipped to her knees beside him. She leant over him, her eyes worried. From the door, Undertaker heard another woman's voice, presumably a maid's, call out to Claudia.

"My lady, please be careful!"

"I am being careful." Claudia gently placed her hand under the reaper's head to raise it off the ground. Her hand suddenly trembled as it came into contact with his wound. "You're bleeding so terribly, Mister Undertaker!"

Undertaker heard the footsteps of a stumbling person. His vision had cleared enough to now see a middle-aged woman, who appeared to be Claudia's lady's maid, standing warily behind her mistress.

"My lady," she repeated, before leaning down to utter something quietly to Claudia. She was unaware of Undertaker's extraordinarily refined hearing ability. "_He might have had one too many to drink."_

Claudia shook her head dismissively and wrapped an arm around Undertaker's shoulders.

"Are you well enough to stand? Lean on me if you have to."

Claudia's maid got into a flap as she hauled him up.

"My lady, a footman can take care of that! Just a moment…" She dashed back into the house and returned with a well-built young man in a swallowtail coat. "Jonathan, assist this man, take him into…?" She paused and looked to Claudia for confirmation.

"The living room," Claudia inferred. She let Jonathan take Undertaker from her, but as she did, the reaper felt her softly squeeze his hand. He nearly laughed. To have a human - a little, weak creature - worried about him… protective of him… it was ridiculous, amusing…

_And perhaps… a bit flattering._

Undertaker had never been inside of the townhouse before, though it was so much like how he imagined it would look that it was almost amusing. Paintings of former watchdogs hung proudly on the grey walls, their shady auras translating well into the pictures. Deer antlers were displayed around the fireplace. Lined up below a painting of a dog stood a bookshelf. When the footman swung him perilously close to this bookshelf – apparently hiring accident-prone servants ran in the family - Undertaker was able to see the title of the book resting along the shelf's surface.

'_Sightings of the Supernatural'._

Once again, Undertaker paused as he considered the situation. This was a bad sign. _Does Claudia suspect…? _He gave a slight shake of his head, and winced again when this caused the throbbing pain to sear through the back of his head. No. She couldn't be onto him – not when all he had said that could possibly make her suspect was the word 'humans' rather than 'people'. No, it was more likely that his human friend happened to have an unusual interest in the paranormal.

Still, it confirmed the warning that had been lurking at the back of his mind since the day he had met Claudia Phantomhive: he could not afford for this friendship to build, no matter how entertaining he found her. Not that it wasn't doomed from the start, but she was sharper than he had presumed. It was too risky.

Well, Undertaker himself was not afraid of risks – he had just fought off one of the worst demons Hell had to offer. It was just that he didn't want her taking any risks that she couldn't afford… because he found her entertaining.

_Entertaining._

Jonathan draped him across a settee. The servants set off to find a doctor. They ignored his wishes that they didn't. Claudia entered from the kitchen, a bowl of water and a cloth in her hands. She placed them on the little table next to the settee, then pulled up a footstall to sit near him.

"You are strange, I must admit," she said, though there was a fondness to her tone. Undertaker smiled.

"Why thank you. Here I was beginning to think you didn't find anything strange."

Claudia dampened the cloth and carefully lifted his head to dab at his wound. Undertaker could sense her freeze for a second. Perhaps she had noticed that his injury was already starting to heal remarkably quickly.

"Why do not want a doctor to see you?"

"Is your husband at home?" he asked her in return.

"I'm here alone."

"Why?"

"You are avoiding my question, Mister Undertaker."

"As are you, Lady Phantomhive."

She looked indignant for a moment, then shook her head.

"Sorry, I can see we are both prying into personal matters. Let us speak no more about them." Undertaker exhaled with a mixture of relief and disappointment, until Claudia added, "Though I feel as though I _do _have the right to ask _what you were doing on my roof_."

That silenced him. Claudia raised an eyebrow reproachfully at his hesitation. The reaper mused over the question in his head. _How can I answer you? 'My dear Claudia, I was fighting a demon that had been ordered to kill your husband and yourself'?_

He was surprised by how tempted he was to tell the truth.

"Claudia," he said, choosing his words with an unusual amount of care. "We all have aspects of our chosen occupations that we need to keep confidential. The Queen's watchdog has several, as you know… and so do I."

She sighed.

"Yes, and it's highly vexing."

Undertaker blinked. _So, your patience is not entirely limitless. _He looked up at her and smiled. _Of course, I happen to sympathise with the curious mind._

"Perhaps one day, I will let you in on a secret or two… you know my price." He let his mouth twist into an odd grin, which usually had the delightful effect of terrifying his customers. "For now though, I wouldn't worry your head about it. I have only the best of intentions, hee hee!"

Claudia appeared to process this, before giving a crafty smile of her own. The reaper was mildly astonished by this reaction.

"Alright, I'll be holding you to that."

She put the cloth back in the bowl. Undertaker had started to close his eyes when her hands came back to either side of his head. Her fingers swept down to softly twist around his thin plait.

"I know you have the best of intentions," Claudia continued. "I trust that you had good reason to be on my roof at midnight. After all, you have only ever been a help before." Her thumb stroked along his silver plait. "I see you kept this in."

"You're very trusting," Undertaker noted. Talk of his new favourite hairstyle could be pushed aside for now, hopefully.

Claudia raised an eyebrow.

"You say that like I _shouldn't _be trusting you," she replied. "However, I wouldn't say I am particularly trusting. I just know that there could have been all sorts of reasons."

He grinned.

"Then you're very optimistic."

"I would say I am more of a realist than an optimist."

"Oh really? How might that be, hmm?"

"You might have realised that I am quite a curious person, Mister Undertaker. The truth is… I see every person as being like a jigsaw puzzle." Claudia's eyes fell on his fringe. No, for a more accurate description, they looked _through _his fringe, straight into his eyes. Undertaker knew that his eyes were still hidden, but her gaze left him taken aback.

He wouldn't let her pick up on this, mind. He smirked as if to mock her.

"A jigsaw, Claudia? Don't tell me you've fully turned into a Phantomhive, and have adopted a 'humanity is a game' attitude?" He reached up with one hand to wrap his fingers around her hand, which still held his plait. "That would be a dull cliché indeed."

Claudia looked at his hand covering hers. Undertaker's smirk widened as he noticed her cheeks flush slightly. _Well? Am I scaring you away?_

"No," she said, with a firmness that further surprised him. "What I am saying is, 'humanity' – as you put it – is like an incomplete puzzle. Think about it… so many events occur in a person's life, we can't ever know about every single one. Like a jigsaw, Mister Undertaker, we are given some fragments of what makes up a person, and we piece together what we can. What we come up with forms a shape, and that is how we will see them – but is it really complete? How can we ever completely see a person?"

_Cinematic records, dear. _Even as he thought this, however, he felt a twinge of doubt. Cinematic records only contained fragments themselves. Really, they were missing a lot, he had to admit.

"However, we can't reasonably expect to be given all the pieces we need to complete the puzzle of a person. Instead, we have to look for enough pieces to perceive the essential image." She turned over her palm to take hold of his hand. "I've been thinking about you. Your _shape_ is an undertaker, but your _image_? I see a completely different image through that. Mister Undertaker, I'd like to know who you are really."

Her eyes were still locked on his. His hand was still locked in hers. Perhaps Claudia Phantomhive wasn't the weaker creature after all. He urged himself to pull away.

_There is letting your guard down, and then there is throwing away your weapon too._

"Anything else, my dear Claudia?" he said in a forced sing-song voice.

A frown crossed her face.

"Yes, there is. Understand this: I _will _find out what you are trying to protect me from."

Undertaker raised his eyebrows. _She can't be onto the demons as well._

"Am I protecting you?" he asked quietly.

"Confidentiality exists as a means of protection, Mister Undertaker," Claudia affirmed. "I appreciate your intentions, I really do. However, to let me know what I am facing… that would make me far better prepared, don't you think?"

Just then, the servants came running into the room, a doctor in tow. Undertaker stood up before the doctor could inspect his head injury. His eyes met Claudia's through his hair. For once, his expression was that of total seriousness.

"Thank you, Lady Phantomhive, for your care. I must say… no one has ever pinpointed the root of the problem and offered such a treatment."

"Wait," said the doctor. "Lady Phantomhive, you managed to treat him by yourself? Are you sure -?"

Undertaker closed his eyes and turned around. He lifted the locks of hair at the back of his head to reveal his almost completely healed wound. He looked back over his shoulder to see their shocked faces. However, while the doctor and the servants were gaping open-mouthed at him, Claudia was levelling him with a wary gaze. Undertaker gave her a smile, though the curve of his mouth conveyed more sincerity than any expression he had shown for as long as he could remember.

"Have a good evening," he said, before turning out of the room. No one followed him.

Undertaker shut the door behind him and walked out onto the icy road. He saw his hat discarded on the pavement and stooped to reach it. He looked at its crooked shape for a moment and chuckled bitterly.

"'Humanity is a game', hm? Thank goodness you don't think so, my lady. If that was the case…" He paused as he sensed a figure rush past nearby. He placed his hat back on his head, drew a sobota from under his cloak and gave chase to the returning demon.

"I fear I might be losing this game."


	4. Strike Simulator

**Disclaimer: I do not own Black Butler/Kuroshitsuji or any of its characters. They belong to Yana Toboso.**

* * *

><p>Undertaker's back smacked against the trolley as he was hit by another lightning bolt. He kept his head bowed as he gritted his teeth so hard the tendons in his neck stood out. Sweat caused his clothes to stick to his back.<p>

"I will ask you once again," William said, in a voice closer to a shout than Undertaker had heard from him yet. "What purpose do the reanimated corpses serve?"

Undertaker needed to take a few steady breaths before he could speak.

"I… just told you, didn't I?" he panted. "They were made… for my entertainment -"

His body lurched as William pressed the button again. Undertaker squeezed his eyes shut as he thrust his head back sharply from the impact. Saliva slipped from the corner of his mouth – but for once, this was not caused by laughter. Before his company could see this, he let his head fall even lower. His long hair, even when tied into bunches, curtained off his face from sight. The plait swung in front of his eyes like a pendulum.

"Bear in mind that you are torturing yourself by not telling the truth," William stated. Undertaker glanced up to see that he was not the only one who was gritting his teeth and shaking. There were cracks in William's usual cool composure, which Undertaker took for a minor victory. Ronald had had to keep turning away throughout and now appeared to be chewing the inside of his cheek. Grell on the other hand was lying on his front, his chin propped up on his hands, his legs lightly pedalling the air gleefully. The excited look on his face as he watched the Strike Simulator in action further confirmed to Undertaker that the flamboyantly-dressed reaper was the most fearsome reaper of London Dispatch.

"Sir," Ronald started nervously. "What if he is actually telling the truth? He does seem to be motivated by things he finds funny."

"No, he is trying to trick you," William replied. "'Entertainment', 'curiosity'… those are the purposes he told you when the three of you were on board that ship. This perpetrator lies, Knox. Besides," he pushed his spectacles back up his face. "It makes no sense. No one would go to such great lengths to reanimate bodies to merely entertain themselves. It doesn't matter why he did this. What matters is what these violations of nature might be used for in the near future."

He sighed and moved his finger to the button once more. Undertaker didn't miss the quiver of his hand.

"You have now prompted yourself to be struck forty-nine times," William muttered. "This is your final chance to start answering our questions before we move on to the next stage. I cannot emphasise enough that what awaits you next will be… even less 'entertaining' than this."

Undertaker mustered a dry chuckle. _Forty-nine times, hmm? Then maybe it's time to catch him with a strike of my own._

"I'm sensing that this isn't entertaining for you either," he mused. One of William's eyebrows flicked up.

"Pardon?"

Undertaker licked his lips and raised his head to face William. He met the younger reaper's sharp yellow-green eyes… and smirked at how they were boxed by the dark rectangular frames of his glasses. The model Dispatch representative. Yes, his captor was weak-sighted, in more ways than one.

"You are not enjoying this any more than I am," Undertaker purred.

"I am not the one being punished," William shot back.

"Is that so? Then are you therefore declaring that you like being forced to try to break someone? Hurting and degrading another reaper. What fun! What an excellent way to seek justice! Do you agree with your justice system's logic?"

"No…" William shook his head. Some of his slicked-back hair fell loose across his forehead. "No, it is you who is hurting and degrading yourself," he hissed. Undertaker's mouth opened in a gleeful smile.

"You flatter them greatly by pretending I have that freedom." He cocked his head as if to convey sympathy. "Then again, do you have a choice but to think that? I imagine you're thinking you're in the best position now. You follow the rules. If you don't follow them to a high enough standard, you'll end up like him." He tilted his head towards Grell.

"What's that supposed to mean?" demanded Grell.

Undertaker didn't answer. He was too busy relishing the effect his words were having on William. The strait-laced reaper seemed to be fighting to remain impassive, but his paling face and the trembling line of his mouth could not be hidden. Ronald too looked less than comfortable. Undertaker gave him a bitter smile. Perhaps the youngest reaper was just realising that in twenty years or so, he would most likely turn into Grell, scorned for his choices in life, or William, with no life at all outside work.

_Now, if that isn't bad enough already… _

Undertaker used his remaining energy to straighten up on the trolley.

"Yeeees, and if you dare to break them… you'll end up like me."

The agonising current of lightning shot through his chest once again. He lurched and thrashed about against his restraints as he felt the energy pulsate through his body. This was too much, he couldn't breathe, he was being overpowered, and the lightning's power ceased to fade. From under his eyelashes he glimpsed William, his finger held down on the button, letting the Strike Simulator wreck its full havoc.

"Sutcliff, the prisoner will be left in your charge tonight," William barked. "You will keep pressing him for answers until the next stage of our official questioning. Use whatever means you believe are necessary. He is in your hands."

Grell's eyes were trained on the convulsing Undertaker. It had to be the first time that out of everyone in the room, Grell had the most tranquil expression on his face.

The world faded to black before Undertaker could hear his answer.

* * *

><p>On the eve of the discovery of the cure for the mysterious illness that had been plaguing London, customers could have been forgiven for thinking that their local friendly undertaker had converted his parlour into a chemistry lab. Next to each corpse stood a test tube rack, which held hastily-stacked test tubes. Undertaker had been working feverishly on the bodies all night and day.<p>

The sound of the door crashing open made him look up.

"Undertaker, a word, now!" Lord Phantomhive demanded. The look on his face when he saw the bodies made Undertaker sincerely wish it would come up again in his Cinematic Record, so that perhaps another grim reaper could get a laugh out of it. Undertaker knew Lord Phantomhive was no stranger to corpses, but the corpses he saw were probably not positioned so that they were holding up a 'Get Well Soon' banner.

"You are off your rocker, you really are," Lord Phantomhive groaned.

"Hee hee! Why hello, milord! What brings you here?"

These words appeared to bring his lordship back to his senses. He marched forward and grabbed Undertaker by his robes. The former reaper stood over half a foot taller than the earl, but Lord Phantomhive was not unnerved.

"You know damn well what brings me here," the earl snarled. "Scotland Yard will not be impressed to hear that you've abducted my wife!"

"I have not abducted your wife, Lord Earl," Undertaker said in a patient tone which only seemed to further infuriate the earl. "Her ladyship is not well, so she is staying in my humble home until she is cured."

"If that is the case, then she should be with a doctor, not an undertaker!"

"I believe, Lord Earl, that those working for Queen Victoria in dealing with underworld affairs do their best to stay as far from public services as possible, lest they are questioned by those who walk in the daylight." Undertaker swatted Lord Phantomhive's hand away and turned his attention back to the corpse he had been testing. "Besides, at the moment, doctors are no closer to finding the cure than I am."

"Well, it's still completely improper and downright scandalous that she is staying with _you."_

Undertaker turned his head to smirk at his companion.

"Hee hee! Because I am a mere undertaker?"

"No, because you are an unmarried, insane old man, or so you appear. There's no denying that. Just think of what people might say if they knew about this!"

The reaper raised his eyebrows at the words 'or so you appear', but kept his grin fixed to his face.

"I believe you are the only one of the three of us who cares about what humans might say, milord." He reached out for one of the test tubes and poured a few drops from a bottle labelled 'phenolphthalein' into it. He smiled as the liquid changed colour to a deep pink. "I see! 'Basic', that's where everyone's been going wroooong!"

The earl looked puzzled.

"What is it exactly that you are doing?"

"First," Undertaker said with a taunting wag of his finger, "I will answer what must be the agonising question plaguing on the devoted husband's mind: her ladyship fell ill when she came to investigate the effects of the contagious disease you're all nicknaming, 'Black Death Two.'" He couldn't resist adding, "you know, the one that you are supposed to be investigating under the command of Her Majesty."

"I didn't ask her to do that, if that's what you're implying!" the earl retorted. "This is news to me."

"No, but Lady Phantomhive felt the need to move things along a little."

"What a foolish woman, to investigate a disease which is so highly contagious."

"Perhaps, but didn't it have to be done to try to find a cuuuure?"

Lord Phantomhive's ears reddened as he clenched his teeth.

"She shouldn't interfere, my work is not her place! I am the Queen's Watchdog, and I am the one charged with dealing with Her Majesty's private concerns."

"Quite right," Undertaker noted cheerfully. "Only Claudia seems a lot better suited to the post than you. Tell me, Lord Earl, how many days of investigation did you undertake before concluding to your wife that all England was to do was to 'wait until all the infected die, and the disease will die with them'?"

"That – that wasn't what I meant!"

"No?" Undertaker took another test tube and poured its contents into a half-full vial, causing the mixture to nearly overflow. "How about, 'it's simply Survival of the Fittest'?"

"And _you_ just used Claudia's first name."

The mortician paused before taking a skull from one of his shelves. He held it up to his face as if confiding with a friend.

"Yeeees, I suppose I did, didn't I?" He crinkled his fingers to make the skull nod in agreement.

"Undertaker, I cannot tolerate this…. this _business _going on between you and my wife. I know the truth, and it is inappropriate and dangerous and completely abhorrent!"

"Is that so? Catch!" Undertaker threw the skull in a high arc over his head. He threw it with such accuracy that it landed in the flustered earl's hands. "Good boy. Now my lord, I am very busy, so all I can say, if you are seriously accusing your wife of being unfaithful -"

"No, it's not even that!" Lord Phantomhive slammed the skull on the floor, his eyes still trained sharply on the mortician. "It's because _I know what you are."_

The ex-reaper froze in his tracks at these words. The earl slowly walked towards him, with the precise steps of a lion on the prowl.

"Yes," he stated. "Don't even think about trying to deny it. Let's not lie to each other."

Undertaker realised he had underestimated the man – such an error coming from a reaper his age was almost laughable, and it wasn't an error he was accustomed to making. Nevertheless, reapers had been trained to accurately perceive a target. Just as important as not underestimating a target was to not overestimate them either. He processed through the ways his lordship could possibly know what he was… and smiled when he spotted the earl's mistake.

"Did you come to that conclusion all by yourself, Lord Earl?"

"No, I did not. I came to the conclusion based on what I was once told by somebody who knows your kind." Lord Phantomhive took another step towards him. "Knowledge of death. Short-sightedness. Eyes, which I believed he described as 'chartreuse phosphorescence'…which every wise reaper tries to _hide_!"

When the earl's hand made to sweep away his fringe, Undertaker neatly ducked under his arm, grabbed the earl's tie and pulled him in so sharply that they nearly knocked heads. The reaper smiled darkly before he leant forward to whisper in the earl's ear.

"Might I remind you, milord, that your wife is merely upstairs and can probably hear everything you're saying?"

"Good, let her hear."

"And by acknowledging that you were told by somebody who 'knows my kind', you are also acknowledging that you have certain unfavourable connections yourself, seeee?"

For a moment, Lord Phantomhive seemed to contemplate this, before he let out a sigh.

"Very well, Undertaker. By now, I suppose there is little point lying to you. I will tell you about these… unfavourable connections I had. _Have._ Perhaps then you will see the severity of the situation. Close the door, will you?"

Undertaker turned and walked to the door at the back of the shop, which led to his living quarters above the shop floor. He heard frantic footsteps stumble up the stairs as he came closer. When he reached the door frame, he paused for a moment. A few seconds later, Claudia took a few steps back down the stairs. She looked down at Undertaker sheepishly. The mortician just smiled and gestured to her to creep nearer to the door. Once she had reached the threshold, he carefully closed the door.

"You want me to leave Claudia alone," he said, turning his attention back to her husband. "Understandable, as you love her, riiiiight?"

"No."

_No?_

Undertaker privately considered this to be the biggest surprise of the day. He looked back at the door, where he knew Claudia was listening.

"Lord Earl, to think of all the men who would _gladly_ be the husband of Lady Claudia Phantomhive…"

Lord Phantomhive raised an eyebrow.

"Don't you mean, 'have Claudia as their wife'? And no, as far as I know, no one does envy me my wife?" He shook his head. "Anyhow, it isn't as though I dislike Claudia, even if she is… interested in odd things and people. No, the fact of the matter is that there is another woman in my life who I will always value above all else."

Undertaker snickered. He sat down on a coffin lid and stirred another substance in a test tube with the end of a spoon.

"My, myyyyyy, Lord Phantomhive! How very bold. Who would this other special lady in your life be?" The answer came to him as his new solution coloured black. "No, let me guess! Your Queen Victoria, the one who holds your lease, Watchdog."

"…"

The earl's hard expression weakened for a moment. Undertaker nodded. _All guard dogs start their life as whimpering puppies. You, Lord Phantomhive, are no different._

"…Yes, Undertaker. My devotion lies with Her Majesty… who is most dear to me. And because there is no point lying to each other - though this must not leave this room – as a lad, I dreamt of marrying the young princess, but then… she had to be married to Prince Albert." The earl relented and took a seat on the coffin opposite the reaper, next to one of the corpses. "Since then, she has come to love her husband, very much. Though my loyalties – try as I may to quell them – remain unaffected."

He took a deep breath.

"Then, I found out that she was in danger, a peril that I would not be able to stop. The thought that our young queen could have been taken from us…" He clenched a fist. "It felt like my world was about to become consumed by darkness. Without her, I had nothing to live for. The world would surely stop turning. I would do anything – anything – to save her. But powerless as I was, it was out of my hands. Then just when I believed that God had abandoned us…"

"A demon kindly introduced himself to you." Undertaker shook his head softly. "He offered to give you anything you wanted. How generous of him."

"He helped me save Victoria."

"The price was _your soul._"

The earl stood up.

"I know you think I'm foolish," he stated. "Just another stupid, weak human. But that is where you '_higher beings'_ – grim reapers, demons, angels if any exist – are wrong. Humans are slower and smaller than many animals, but look how we have adapted, and now we rule the world. We might be physically weaker, but our wills are strong enough to bind you to us -"

"Demons only, you can't bind grim reapers," Undertaker interjected. Lord Phantomhive gave a small smirk.

"We'll see about that." He turned his back on the reaper. "Anyway, the demon, Michael -"

"Michael! What a very ironic name for a demon!" Undertaker giggled. "Well, it has a certain ring to it, 'Michael the demon'. Did you choose that for him?"

"He said I could call him whatever I liked, and I told him I didn't care, so he chose Michael," the earl said dismissively. "That's not the point. I managed to escape the contract by…"

Undertaker listened, astounded, to Lord Phantomhive's words. It wasn't unheard of for humans to escape contracts with demons, but he hadn't imagined that Lord Phantomhive was one such human. _Maybe you are cleverer than I thought, Lord Earl._

"…So now this will end with either Michael finding a way to kill me, therefore gaining my soul, or my finding a way for him to die first. It's another game, like chess, between the two of us."

…_Or perhaps not so clever after all._

"Lord Earl, you are up against a demon," Undertaker reasoned. "The likelihood of him finding a way to kill you is pretty high."

"Not if I use the right tactics."

Lord Phantomhive turned towards the front door of the parlour and made to leave. He stopped just as he turned the handle.

"One of these tactics is to avoid you supernatural beings. You thrive on human suffering. That month I spent with Michael, I saw all of you for what you are. Young reapers, gleefully digging their scythes into the dying, without a second thought. Older reapers, watching Cinematic Records as if someone's entire life is just five minutes of boredom. Michael, waiting with baited breath for my soul. You can say you all help humans all you wish, but you're all so very selfish at the end of the day. That's why I want you to stay away from Claudia: the pair of you are only putting me further in danger. She may stay here until she recovers, assuming she doesn't die. Then you will not see her again."

Undertaker smiled as he left. _The catch there, Lord Earl, is that I'm not some demon you've contracted. I'm not bound to you unless you humour me._

The back door opened and Claudia stepped into the room.

"He is off his rocker, he really is," she muttered. She looked up at Undertaker, her eyes wide. "He can't defeat a demon on his own!"

"That he can't. Michael is a remarkably powerful demon. This plague… take a little guess on who inflicted it." He gave a triumphant giggle and handed her his test tube. "And take a guess on what I've just found a cure for! One injection, and you will be all better, isn't that lovely?"

"You… you say that like you haven't just saved hundreds of lives…" Claudia looked overcome with happiness. She gave the reaper a glowing smile. Tears of gratitude filled her eyes. "Thank you, Mister Undertaker, thank you!"

"Sit down, my dear, let's not have you step backwards into a specially made coffin earlier than necessary."

Undertaker's face darkened as he reached up for his medical box on a high shelf behind his desk. He had meant it lightly – he often liked to terrify customers by joking about specially made coffins – but his own words send a chill through him once spoken aloud. Claudia was a human. One day – which, for reapers, passed in the blink of an eye - Claudia would die. Undertaker had known, since the woman had befriended him, that this would be a day he would live in dread of until it happened. Then after that…

_Now isn't the time to think of that, _he thought. _At least it wasn't that day today._

Claudia sat down on a coffin, casting a smile at the corpses propping up the Get Well Soon card. Undertaker crouched next to her, took her arm and searched his medical box for the least painful-appearing needle.

"Not only can his noxious presence sweep across London, Michael is also a supreme fighter," he told her. "I found that out for myself that night on your roof." He laughed quietly at her stunned expression. "Well, your husband is right, there is no use trying to hide any longer. I'm sure you caught that small detail about my supernatural nature. Though… I suspected you suspected. But you look surprised…?"

"I must admit, I had my suspicions, Mister Undertaker." Claudia suppressed a wince as he pushed the needle into her skin. "But it's just amazing to comprehend. You fight demons and their plagues!"

"Not usually, that makes me sound far more heroic than I actually am."

"Then… you are going very much out of your way to save me. No one has done that before."

The reaper withdrew the needle. He paused as he met Claudia's determined eyes. The sheer absurdity of a human woman looking at him with a flattered, hopeful, and undeniably yearning expression would have made him laugh back at Dispatch. Now, however, he felt a sharp sting of regret for what couldn't happen.

Her hand reached out to take his. Undertaker closed his eyes behind his fringe. His mouth bent into a bitter grin. He pulled his hand from her grasp.

"Claudia… are you not appalled that I am a grim reaper?"

"No," was her defiant reply. Claudia's expression softened when he flinched. "No, of course not," she said in a gentler tone. "Why would I be?"

Undertaker shook his head.

"Find the missing pieces of the jigsaw puzzle. Then come back to me and see if you can still say that."

**A/N: Thank you all for your patience and support! It's so lovely to hear your opinions and ideas :) I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Next chapter: Undertaker left under Grell's charge... how will this go...**

**I have also created a poll on my profile, about what you would like to see more of in my stories - feel free to check it out and answer :D**


End file.
